


Look At The Wonderful Mess That We Made

by rainingnostalgia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, insecure!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:10:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingnostalgia/pseuds/rainingnostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's not sure how they managed to get here. How they took the plunge to the deepest, darkest parts of Louis that the older boy locked away from the world. Harry's not sure how he didn't notice Louis being slowly ripped apart by the seams, tortured by the constant pressure to be perfect.</p><p>What Harry does know is that Louis needs to be stitched back together with love, and he's the one holding the needle and thread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look At The Wonderful Mess That We Made

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!  
> This is my first attempt at writing Larry fanfic, so please excuse the general shittiness of this as my writing skills are fairly rusty. This took me about three weeks to write because i'm possibly the worst procrastinator in the world, so it's good to finally be posting this, however this hasn't been beta'd so if you spot any mistakes please let me know! All feedback is greatly appreciated!  
> Enjoy :)

Louis can't quite remember when he began to retreat into his metaphorical shell, the past weeks of continuous touring and press all merging into one time period, but he guesses it was sometime around the release of the Little Things video.

That was months ago.

The door to his hotel bathroom is ajar, light from the bedroom casting a warm glow into the room and gently reflecting off the mirror that Louis has become so sickeningly enchanted by. His fingers grip the porcelain bowl of the sink, stance tense and shoulders hunched inwards as he glares at the reflection he has grown to despise with each passing day.

Breathing out harshly through his nose Louis carelessly runs a hand down his weary face before facing forwards again.

There is no light in his eyes; that began to burn out weeks ago, the embers of his charismatic personality finally fading into dull, empty nothing.

His complexion is pallid and all he can think is how _fucking awful I look_ and he doesn't want to consider how standing next to the other lads will only highlight that even more. _Not even make up can salvage this_ he thinks, the last word ricocheting around his mind like a reckless bullet intent on only destruction.

Trembling fingers graze the space in the corners of his eyes, a pitiful attempt to smooth the wrinkles there.

His hand moves down to hover at his throat. Palm closing around the soft expanse of skin, eyes falling shut. He can hear the way his voice cracked on stage a few hours ago during Live While We're Young, replaying over and over in his mind. The sound of Harry's impromptu falsetto which he pulled off stunningly and Niall flawlessly harmonising with him echoes in his ears, only serving as a reminder of what he will never be able to do.

Louis drags himself away from the mirror and back into bed, purposely putting as much distance between him and the warm body that has cocooned itself inside the blankets. The lump of fabric that is Harry doesn't move as he slides under the remaining covers.

He falls asleep soon after, silent tears trailing his cheeks and staining the pillowcase.

He doesn't realise that Harry is still awake.

 

∞∞∞

 

Louis is pulling his shirt down for about the tenth time since the interview has started, Liam's arm slung carelessly over his shoulder and Zayn pressed warmly against his side. Louis has to resist the overwhelming urge to wriggle away because _no_. The contact is making him restless and paranoid. He's been trying to avoid all necessary human interaction all day since he read a tweet from a fan in the morning which remarked about his “extra pudge” that was “so evident” during the show they played the day before. 

Harry seems to notice his discomfort as he shoots his boyfriend a reassuring glance that's mixed with an underlining worry. From his place next to Zayn, Harry wanted nothing more then to clamber over his band member and collect Louis in his arms and shield him from whatever was upsetting him.

After receiving the glance, the eldest member of One Direction zones back into the conversation just in time as the interviewer asks him a question about the difference between British and American fans.

The cogs turn in his brain as he struggles to comprehend the question and create a humorous response because, hello, he's Louis Tomlinson and witty one liners are his thing. The pregnant pause is only broken by Niall jumping to his rescue and making a joke about the different foods that fans bring them, which draws a slightly forced laugh from the other three members. Louis doesn't know what's more concerning; his failure to make a joke or the troubled looks that are being aimed at him from the other four.

He doesn't want to cause them concern. He doesn't want them worrying over him. He doesn't want to be a burden. He doesn't want to feel useless.

And without his cheeky attitude and quirky responses, Louis is a nobody. Louis has nothing to separate himself from the crowd. He's supposed to be the fucking _funny one_ and he's not even funny anymore. The thought carves a nauseous hole in the pit of his stomach.

He reflexively pulls his shirt down again.

Traipsing out the room in no orderly fashion after finishing the interview, the boys make a bee line for their dressing room. The distant sounds of their band going through sound check fills the arena, guitar chords and bass lines beating in time with the thumping of the drums.

“D'you think we can send someone out to get us Nando's?” Of course it's Niall who asks for food, despite the fact that they'd eaten less than two hours ago. Without waiting for an answer, the Irishman scampers away in search of Paul and the possibility of Peri-Peri chicken.

Harry slows his pace to keep in step with Louis, nonchalantly linking their fingers as their arms brush together. Louis has to resist looking down to their connected hands and he can feel Harry's easy smile directed at him, the stupid blush he hates so much warms his cheeks.

Liam has his phone in his hands, thumbs rapidly scrolling through his twitter timeline. Zayn jumps on his back, arms wrapping around his neck. Liam's boxer reflexes kick in, sharp as ever, and curl under the elder boy's thighs keeping him on his back.

“Give a lad a warning next time yeah?” There's warmth in his tone despite the mock irritation in his words.

“But Li-am, Larry are being all cutesy and nobody loves me,” comes the slightly melodramatic reply which Liam seamlessly follows with the opening lines of What Makes You Beautiful, serenading the dark haired boy perched on his back.

The four boys amble down the corridor, harmonising their parts and singing about lighting up the world like nobody else.

Louis momentarily forgets all about his vexations.

Momentarily.

When they reach wardrobe, he's met with bad news.

Their stylist is holding his favourite stage shirt in one hand, the deep blue, loose satin button up, and in her other hand her fingers clutch the black fabric of his baggy chinos. Her voice is harsh and commanding as she yells at one of the backstage team, waves of hostility rolling off her as she makes wild gestures with the articles of clothing. Louis briefly questions if he's done something wrong and tries to back track. Harry squeezes his fingers in knowing comfort and Louis remembers their interlocking fingers.

The yelling stops when Caroline notices their presence.

“Lou, dear, we've got a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. One of the backstage team was unpacking your outfit changes for tonight and..well..they've spilt coffee on your second outfit change. Incompetent, absolutely disgraceful -” her angry muttering fades off, a frown marring her face.

Louis' mind goes into overdrive because that was his favourite outfit, loose and perfect to cover up his shameful body, and now it's _ruined_ and what's he supposed to wear now? His inner turmoil must have shown on his face because Harry, sweet lovely Harry, comes to his rescue.

“Can't Louis just wear his previous outfit again? I mean, it's not really a big deal to be honest-”

“Harold! I did not just hear you say that, I swear, after all this time i've been working with you, you haven't learnt anything. If Louis wears his previous outfit again, it'll clash with Liam's shirt and will be too similar to your jeans. No no no, no.” Caroline speaks as though it's the most obvious thing in the world and before Louis can interfere because _hello_ he is standing right next to them and they're speaking as though he's some sort of inanimate object, she's off again.

“- not to mention how trampy he'll look in the same clothes when the you guys have changed. Nope, he'll have to wear something else. I'm sorry, sweetie.”

Again Louis opens his mouth to speak but Caroline has already began moving to the rack of clothes that lines the side of the room. She's riffling through articles of clothing which he recognises as Niall's and nope. Louis isn't wearing those because Niall is _tiny_ and Louis is not and they will not fit him, no way.

“Louis, babe, i'm hoping that this colour won't contrast too much with Zayn's jacket but it's the best I can do because there's only so much that'll work with Harry's blazers and the fit should be fine because -”

Louis doesn't listen to the rest of her rambling because he's staring at the red t-shirt and all he can think about is how tight it'll look and no he can't pull off bright red like Niall can. He's snapped out of his revere when a pair of Harry's old jeans that he'd grown out of are being waved infront of his face.

“- Harry's too tall for these so they should fit you now. Might be a bit of a squeeze but then, at least, you won't have to wear a belt.”

Shame clouds his features because Harry's legs are like scaffolding poles and Louis has an arse that could rival J-Lo's and there is no way in high hell he's going to get those on.

In the back of his mind he acknowledges Caroline's comment about not needing to wear a belt and stores it in his memory to torture himself with it later on when he's privileged with privacy, but he's currently trying to think of an excuse not to wear the items presented to him and then also ways to sabotage those jeans that Harry used to look so _flawless_ in and the shirt that sculpts perfectly to fit Niall's lithe body.

He comes up blank with only a swell of dread pooling in the bottom of his stomach and bile rising in the back of his throat, daring him to protest.

The show is going smoothly. Niall's cheeky antics sending the fans into a frenzy, Zayn's notorious “Vas 'appening!” eliciting deafening screams whilst Liam determinedly speaks in a ridiculously put on American accent. And Harry is Harry. Smooth talking the crowd, repeatedly flipping his hair and sending Louis these charming little secretive smiles.

Meanwhile, Louis himself is doing his best to hide behind their guitarist.

Right now he can't think of any worse form of torture than having to wear this heinous shirt that highlights his curvy stomach and skinny jeans which look like they've been painted onto him. Louis is 99% sure that he's going to need a pair of scissors to get the jeans off.

When it's time for twitter questions, Louis paces around at the back of the stage avoiding asking or answering any questions and trying to seem nonchalant and doing his best to hide from the limelight. He's hoping that if he keeps moving, no one will focus on him long enough to notice how hideous he looks.

It works until Harry notices.

Harry's slender fingers wrap firmly around his wrist, effectively halting him, whilst he casts a glance which clearly says stop-pacing-you're-going-to-wear-a-hole-in-the-stage.

Louis fixes him with his best mega-watt smile that he's become so practised at and that's all it takes to reassure the younger boy.

Things continue this way over the course of the next week or so. Late night trips to the bathroom mirror to inspect yet another imperfection, begging wardrobe to give him more loose fitting clothes, not allowing Harry to wrap his arms around his middle and even going so far as to fake a sore throat so that his meagre number of solos is reduced even further as some of his more challenging parts are distributed amongst the other boys.

No one seems to notice, or they do and they're just really good actors. He's pretty sure it's the former since the other lads are still riding the highs of touring and the endless declarations of love directed at them by their mass army of fans are the perfect distraction.

Louis isn't sure about anything anymore.

It all comes to light after a matinee show they've just played in France. Liam's up in his room, skyping his parents and no doubt Danielle. Louis envies their relationship, their freedom and ability to be open. Harry and himself are going through a rough patch in their relationship and it's fucking _painful_ because he knows it's his fault. The distance he created between them was supposed to be for Harry; so he wouldn't have to put up with Louis and his flaws all the time.

Harry, Niall and Zayn are in some club, a nameless club amongst many that litter the brightly lit city. Louis had left within an hour of arriving with them. The mass of writhing bodies, strobe lights like spotlights and overwhelming volume of the bass was pushing the limit of how much Louis could take in his current state. It was only when he spied some busty blonde with a mile high pair of legs that were a shade of orange that were way too fake to be from anywhere but a can, grinding up against his boy that Louis decided he had enough. Because what the hell, Harry could do so much better than him. Dear, sweet Harry who deserves someone on his level and who could make him truly happy. It was only a matter of time before Harry left him to find someone else who really deserved him.

Louis slipped, thankfully, unnoticed from the club, none of the others noticing or maybe they just didn't care.

The bittersweet feeling lingers like a bad taste in his mouth that no amount of jaegerbombs or vodka shots can wash away. Currently sitting in a smoky bar with a row of shots lined up before him, some of which suspiciously resemble absinthe, Louis is ready to forget everything.

Bringing another shot to his mouth, the sting of the Smirnoff is enough to distract him from the incessant buzzing in his pocket that is his phone repeatedly ringing.

Half an hour later and Louis' stream of alcohol and only escape is cut off when the bartender vaguely recognises him and decides that she doesn't want to get in trouble for serving alcohol to whom she thinks is a minor. Frankly, Louis can't be bothered to recall his GCSE knowledge of French to explain to her that he's actually 21 and he's not sure whether his brain would be able to handle the complexity of it anyway.

He settles for resting his heavy head on his folded arms on the bar. He's not nearly as drunk as he can be and no where near as drunk as he'd like to be.

It's only when he feels a largely familiar hand on his shoulder and a deep, desperate cry of his name that he lifts his head.

The pure relief and love Louis sees in those swirling green eyes make Louis want to slam his head onto the bar and hopefully knock himself out so he doesn't have to deal with this. Alcohol makes him morbid, he thinks.

Harry's strong arms wrap hastily around him and pull him back slightly before his face makes contact with the cold marble.

“Lou, what's wrong with you?”

One of Harry's arms lock around him securely.

“Why did you leave us?”

The other arm detaches from the embrace.

“Are you feeling alright?”

His palm comes up to Louis' head feeling for his temperature.

“How much have you drunk?”

The warm palm caresses his cheek and travels down to his jaw to turn his face so their eyes meet. Harry must see how fucked up Louis feels because he starts into a frantic tirade.

“When did you leave? You don't even know how worried i've been, I've been calling you for the best part of an hour and when you didn't pick up I freaked out and had to get Liam to call Paul to get security and we've all been out looking for you and it's like you didn't _want_ to be found. What's the matter baby? What's going on? Is it something to do with why you've been so distant lately? Have I done something? Please talk to me because I just feel like you're mad at me and -”

“Shut up Harry! Just stop okay!” Louis finally snaps when Harry starts to lie and he can sense the forced concern in his words. He can't stand the fakeness behind each question, like Harry really couldn't care less about him but is still putting up a pretence.

Louis' harsh words shock Harry into silence.

“You don't need to lie to me, okay?! I get that you despise me, I really do, but you don't have to fucking patronise me,” and Louis frees himself from the limbs encasing him, hops off the bar stool and proceeds to walk to the exit only swaying a little which he's quite proud of himself for considering he's half sober and his bum is numb from sitting for so long.

His plans are thwarted when Harry seizes his bicep in an iron hold.

“What-what are you talking about? Lou, i'm not lying or trying to patronise you and why the fuck would I despise you? I don't understand, come on love, let's just go back to the hotel, okay?” Harry's facial expression is one of anxiety and fear but his movements are slow and reassured as he steers Louis to the exit and out into the open air with little resistance.

The taxi ride back to their hotel is awkward and tense as Louis vehemently glares out the window and avoids all contact, whilst Harry shoots him frequent concerned looks and has to stop himself from reaching out to his boyfriend. Louis knows this is it. He knows that it's over. And in all honestly, he just wants it done quickly so he can curl up and cry and drink himself into next year.

Things get worse when they reach their shared room; Louis sitting way too still on their bed and Harry is hovering about before him.

Harry is the first to crack.

“Lou, baby, please tell me what's going on.” Long legs spread on the floor as he falls to his knees infront of Louis and clasps the older boy's hands in his. He has to school is features to hide his pained expression as Louis flinches slightly from the contact.

When Louis makes no intention of talking, Harry tries again.

“Please, talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know that. Please Louis, what's wrong?”

“Why are you doing this?” Louis' whispered reply is barely audible, and Harry's sure he would've missed it if he hadn't seen Louis' lips move.

“Doing _what?!_ ” Tears of frustration and desperation forming in his too green eyes as he really, really begins to worry.

“Acting like you care when you obviously don't.” Louis scoffs in turn, pulling his hands away to pull down his shirt and wrap around his too big stomach.

“ _What are you talking about?_ ” Harry's voice cracks and he's scared, so scared.

“Come on, knock it off okay. We both know you're dying for a way out of this” and Louis waves a hand carelessly, gesturing lazily between them.

“Louis, why are you saying this? Why would I ever want to end this?”

“Are you for fucking real?! You really want me to say it?” Louis' previous hostility is ebbing away and being replaced by unadulterated misery. Harry really wants him to suffer, he thinks. Wants to shatter the already cracked walls of protection he put up.

 “Yes! I want you to say it because I genuinely have no idea what you're on about!” Harry's lip trembles and Louis internally cringes because Harry's a better actor than him, even though he wasn't the one who studied Drama as a career choice years ago. He adds this to his rapidly growing mental list of things he hates about himself.

 “Because i'm a fat shit who can't sing to save his life, and resembles a potato on legs, and i'm not even funny and I just-i just- can't anymore” and that's it. Louis lays himself bare and waits for the final nail in the coffin of self hate that Harry is surely going to deliver.

 Only, it never comes.

 Harry lets out a pained moan, like a dying animal, as he surges forward and envelops Louis tightly, knocking them both onto the bed whilst chanting a string of barely ineligible _no no no's._ Louis can't do anything but take it as he lies still, tears streaming from the his eyes, only enhancing his eye crinkles he thinks bitterly.

 Louis only realises that Harry is crying as well when he feels dampness on his neck. When Harry's giant frame finishes trembling, Louis is not expecting the slap across his cheek. Eyes widening, skin tingling and so so confused, he opens his mouth to protest.

 “N-no. Y-you don't get to talk.” Harry's fingers reach to press gently against Louis too wiry lips.

 “I don't know where you got the idea that you're _fat_ or _can't sing_ or _ugly-”_ he spits the words out like poison in his mouth “ - but I sure as hell know that you're _wrong._ So very wrong. I can't believe this is why- I just don't understand. You are so beautiful Lou. So, so beautiful.” The last few words are muffled as he buries his face deep into the soft fabric of Louis' shirt, just above his heart.

 “You have a heart of gold and will always be the most beautiful thing i've ever laid eyes on. Believe me Lou when I say that nothing will ever change the way I feel about you.”

 “No Harry,” comes the mumbled whine from Louis as Harry's fingers are still pressed against his lips.

 “Please stop -”

 “- No you stop!”

 “Louis!”

 “Harry! You don't get it!” Louis' had enough and pushes Harry off his chest and rolls away from him.

 “I'm not Zayn, I don't have chiselled cheek bones. I don't have Liam's incredible voice, I can barely hold a fucking tune. Niall can play guitar, I can't play anything! And you, you're the worst. You with your perfect hair, dimpled smile and perfect voice. And y-you have that stupid charming thing going on and i'm just not like any of you. I don't _belong._ Not in the band, not with you. I just don't _fit,_ okay.” By the end of his speech, Louis' tucked himself into a ball leaning against the headboard of the bed, knees pressed against his chest with arms securely wrapped around his legs and cheek laying on top of his knees to avoid the intensity of Harry's gaze.

 “Do you think i'm shallow?” The question catches Louis off guard and he hurries to turn to face the other boy because no that's not what he thinks at all.

 “No, of course not, i'm just saying that-”

 “Louis, I couldn't care less if you sang like a dying cat or looked like the back end of a baboon, which you definitely don't, because I love you. I'm glad you're not like Zayn, Liam, Niall or me because then you wouldn't be you. You are so completely and irrevocably perfect just the way you are. You don't need to be able to sing like Michael fucking Bublé or look like David bloody Beckham because you are absolutely amazing just as you.” Harry's downright pleading now because he _needs_ Louis to understand that he loves him no matter what Louis might think. There are a million and one things that Harry could say to Louis right now but he all he wants is for Louis to understand how fucking much he needs him.

 Despite Harry's words, Louis just _can't_ comprehend why he's saying them because over the past few months he's basically programmed his mind to shut out any compliments. He wants to listen to Harry and believe him but he just can't.

 “But, I just hate how bloated I always look and I'm such a fucking short arse and you don't get wrinkles when you smile and i'm-i'm just so-so fucking _flawed_ and you're just _not_ ,” the words aren't even fully formed because of the silent sobs that his throat emits and then Harry is closing in on him, inked arms wrapping firmly around Louis' trembling body.

 “Oh baby but I am. Everyone is. I don't particularly like how lanky and uncoordinated I am, or the unnecessary size of my nostrils and the fact that I speak at the speed of drying paint isn't exactly my best feature. I'm just as flawed as you. Infact, probably even more so.” Louis makes a noise of disagreement but it dies off as Harry rocks him back and forth shushing him in a whispered tone and murmuring more sweet things into his ear. The conviction in his voice just sets Louis off again as more salty trails carve paths down his blotchy cheeks. Harry's somehow arranged himself so that he's back against the headboard with Louis in between his open legs, their chests pressed securely together.

 “Lou, you most definitely don't look bloated. You've got this beautiful, petite little waist that I love to wrap my palms around and just hold on to. Okay, so maybe you are the shortest out of the five of us-” and that stings Louis because fuck, his boyfriend just admitted that he's a short arse. “-shh, baby, let me finish. You might be the shortest but it doesn't show anything apart from how well you fit into me when you curl up in my arms at night. You fit right here, and it means that I can protect you. You wouldn't be you without the crinkles by your eyes and I don't know whether you know or not, but most of the time I love making you smile, so then I get to see them. They're so endearing and so _Louis_.

 Love, everyone has their flaws, but you have got nothing to worry about because yours just add to the reasons why I love you. You're so hard on yourself Lou.” And then Harry's crying again because he has this beautiful boy in his arms that can't see how incredible he is and it's just so unfair how Louis takes everything out on himself. Harry wonders how long Louis' been like this, insecure and self conscious, but he stops his thoughts before they travel further because, no actually, he doesn't want to know. He doesn't think he could take it if he knows the full extent of Louis' self hate and he'll never forgive himself for letting Louis fall like this and not being there to prevent it.

 Louis remarks of retaliation are shut down almost immediately by Harry as he begins to list all of the things he loves about him.

 The gentle swaying of their bodies and the dim light from the lamp on the night stand casting soft shadows around the room lull Louis to sleep with his boyfriend's dulcet words pushing him further and further away from consciousness.

 

∞∞∞

 

The first time Louis opens his eyes, it's still fairly dark beyond their hotel room window and he's met with two beacons of emerald shining, no sparkling, back at him. There's a lazy smile on Harry's face and his arms are still wrapped tightly around Louis' body just like the night before but now they're lying chest to chest on the bed.

 “Mornin' love,” Harry's voice is impossibly deeper and even more gravelly than usual. Pressing a chaste kiss to Louis' fringe plastered forehead, Louis almost forgets about the events of the previous evening. Almost.

 Sighing dejectedly, he lets his eyes close in a pathetic attempt to undo all the things he let slip.

 As if sensing his inner turmoil, Harry scooches closer to his boy and murmurs a soft, “Go back to sleep Lou, it's alright. Sleep.”

 Following Harry's advice he keeps his eyes shut and let's his mind blank out, barely even concentrating on the comforting words that Harry is once again whispering in his ear, just like the night before as though he never stopped.

 When Louis wakes the second time, his head hurts slightly signalling a mild hangover. However, it doesn't distract him from the fact that he's alone in the bed and the sheets are cold, the other body having left a while ago.

 It doesn't take him long to find a travel mug of lukewarm tea on the night stand and a piece of folded card next to it.

 Sipping from the tea, he doesn't care that it's not hot because it's the perfect amount of two sugars and a dash of milk he needs to wake up properly. Stretching for the card, he can't help but smile stupidly at the immaculate handwriting and the excessive amount of “x's” signed below his name.

 Opening the paper up, he reads it out loud to the empty room.

 “My dearest LouBear. I've gone out early to get some jobs done but don't fret, love, i'll be back before interviews start. I've already told the rest of the lads and Paul that you weren't feeling well last night and I found you back in our room, tucked up in bed. Hope your tea isn't too cold. I miss you already. I love you. Forever yours, Harry.”

 The carelessly drawn smiley face at the end looks out of place amongst the pristine writing but it's just so _Harry_ and Louis begins to wonder what ever did he do to deserve such a perfect boyfriend.

 Louis sees Harry next when they're in the lobby of the hotel for bus call. Louis collides into his chest, pulls him behind a ridiculously large and conveniently placed pot plant and peppers his cheeks with kisses.

 “Hey, I know i'm irresistible but you don't have to attack me Lou,” he teases but winds himself around the smaller boy anyway.

 “I never got to tell you yesterday, but....thank you. For everything. I really don't deserve you.” From where Louis' face is smushed into his collar bone, Harry can only just make out what his boyfriend says.

 “Louis, look at me-” two fingers reach down to tilt the blue eyed boy's face to meet his own. “-you never have to thank me for anything. It's _me_ who has to thank _you_. Thank you for letting me in, for letting me listen. Thank you for giving me the privilege to call you my own. I'm so lucky Boobear, so lucky to have you.” The sincerity in his voice surprises himself and he's proud to be able to hold Louis' gaze without having to look away from the intensity of it all.

 “Haz, you-you're-” the sentence dies on Louis' lips as he buries his face in Harry's chest again and Harry can feel the choked sobs he emits into his shirt. He doesn't do anything except run his palms gently up and down Louis' back.

 When Louis pulls away his eye line is drawn to the white bandage wrapped around Harry's upper bicep, which is mostly obscured by the sleeve of Harry's shirt but Louis sees it anyway.

 It's an obvious tell-tale sign of a very, very recent tattoo. A tattoo Louis had no idea Harry was going to get.

 Brows knitting together and lips forming a pout in confusion, but Niall comes and pulls the pair apart and drags them out into the open before Louis can question the new ink. Harry's sheepish expression is replaced by a wink thrown discretely in Louis' direction, and it's enough for Louis for now. He'll interrogate the curly haired boy later when they're not being herded into a van by Paul to be whisked off for a busy morning of interviews.

 “You feeling better Louis?” and of course it's Liam to worry about the state of Louis' health.

 “He's fine, probably just the kissing disease from all the spit he's been swapping with Harry. I saw 'em. At it like rabbits behind that plant.” Niall's mock disgust is given away by the fond smile he sends towards the two lovers and it's nice to know their friends are so supportive of them, Louis thinks.

 Zayn however, is sharing a knowing glance with Harry, gaze flickering to the bandage before he summons his best “mysterious” face and looks broodingly out the window, feigning indifference.

 Louis doesn't really know what to do so he settles for resting his head on Harry's shoulder and curling his pinkie finger around the other boy's, drawing comfort from the simple action.

 When an interviewer questions Harry about his recent trip to the tattooist, Harry politely shuts down the question and explains how he doesn't particularly want to reveal it yet, it being tender and sore still. If the interviewer is offended by his reluctance, she does a good job of hiding it and it all only heightens Louis' curiosity because _why is Harry being so secretive?_

 The bandage stays on all day and the mystery of the new tattoo stays under wraps as well, and it's not until moments before their show that night when Louis discovers what it is.

 Harry pulls Louis into an alcove well out of sight from prying eyes behind the stage.

 No words are exchanged between them as Harry slowly rolls up the white sleeve of his tshirt and begins to gently unwrap the cloth. Louis' heart is thumping heavily in his chest and he can feel it reverberating in his ears in suspense.

 “For my LouBear.” is all Harry whispers as the fabric finally falls away and is no longer obstructing the milky paleness of his skin. His other arm reaches to link fingers with the elder boy.

 Louis' breath hitches in his throat as he reads the swirling script inked onto tender skin.

 His brain won't function and _fuck_ he wants to cry so badly but he's cried so many times in the past twenty four hours and he doesn't think there are any tears left. The small circles Harry's thumb is rubbing on his hand does not help at all.

 “I will tell you every single day, every hour, every minute if I have to, how much I love you and why I love you. I won't stop until you believe me because I just want you to see yourself the way I see you. You deserve that much.”

 Louis cannot form a coherent reply and his heart is now beating wildly, ready to tear itself out from his ribcage and into Harry's waiting hands.

 “It's right here, on my bicep, because it's for you and you are my strength Lou.”

 Louis has given up trying to form words and just rereads the words over and over again.

 

 

_**All of your flaws and all of my flaws** _  
_**When they have been exhumed** _  
_**We'll see that we need them to be who we are** _  
_**Without them we'd be doomed** _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing it!  
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> Title and tattoo quote is from Bastille - Flaws
> 
> and if you want to message me a prompt or anything, my tumblr is rainingnostalgia !


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